Hidden (The Scions Book 1)

by Gemma Weir

  After school, I walk with my shoulders pulled back and an expression that says I don’t even notice the fifty pairs of eyes on me as I stride through the hallways. But I do, and every new glance feels like a hole being stabbed into my armor.

  The sunlight makes me squint as I exit the building and make my way to where Valentine’s car is still parked in my space. Somehow for the first time I’m actually craving his presence. He makes my mind quiet and I need that now. I need to just be blissfully oblivious.

  When I spot him, I march straight up to him, rise onto my tiptoes and plant my lips against his. I can feel his shock, but it only takes him a second to wrap his arm around my back and lift me off the floor holding me against him as he kisses me back.

  The moment my skin is pressed against his, every thought dissolves from my head, and for the first time since I ran from his room last night I’m only in the here and now. I know I shouldn’t be doing this—playing into this little game of his is dangerous to me—but right now I don’t care. I need the silence more than I need to consider the consequences of my actions.

  He kisses me like there’s nothing else in the world except me and him, then he pulls his lips from mine and lowers me down his body until my feet hit the floor and I’m pressed against him from my knees to my cheek.

  “We’ll see you later,” Valentine says to whoever’s near, then he pulls me alongside him, not relinquishing his hold on me until he’s gently maneuvering me into the passenger seat of his car and closing the door behind me.

  Climbing in, he starts the car’s engine and within seconds we’re speeding down the street and pulling up at his house. Without a word he tows me through the front door and ushers me up the stairs and into his room.

  “Get on the bed,” he demands, his voice stilted and harsh. Then he turns and leaves.

  I listen to him head down the stairs, probably to tell Auntie Brandi that we’re here, or maybe not. I don’t really know anything about his relationship with my Auntie, although I think if he was being a dick to her or Uncle Sleaze I would have heard about it by now.

  When he walks back through his door, closing it halfway like he did yesterday, I realize I’d been so lost inside my head that I hadn’t heard him coming back up the stairs.

  He pauses just in front of the half-closed door and beckons to me. “Come here.”

  I shouldn’t be here. I definitely shouldn’t be giving in to his demands and allowing him to touch me. But the pull to feel so grounded, so consumed, like I do when he touches me, overwhelms my rational thoughts.

  Shakily climbing off the bed, I pad over to him, unsure when I kicked off my shoes, but aware of how small I feel next to him in bare feet.

  “Heard you lost your shit at some girls today.”

  Not speaking, I look up at him. I don’t want to talk. I just want him to take control, to force me to his will and allow me to let go. Even if afterward I’ll regret it, I’ll deal with those consequences. Right now, I’m choosing to let him take away my choice and be damned whatever comes afterward.

  He must see something in my eyes because he steps forward until there’s only an inch of space separating us. “Kiss me,” he rasps.

  Lifting up, I do. I press my lips to his and kiss him with earnest, sliding my tongue into his mouth and tilting my face to the side to deepen it. He lets me be the aggressor for only a matter of moments, then his hand yanks at my hair so hard that I feel a flash of pain. His other hand slides under my ass and he lifts me up off the floor.

  “Legs around my waist,” he orders, pulling himself away from my lips until I twine my legs around him, crossing them at the ankle.

  From this position, I can feel his hard dick pressed enticingly at my core. His fingers slide over my butt and I realize my dress is probably bunched up at my waist. His hand dips lower until his fingers are covering my pussy, but not sliding beneath the fabric of my panties. He rubs between my legs, letting my arousal soak the cotton material.

  I grind myself against him, his fingers, the bulge in his pants. I need him to consume me, to touch me, until there’s nothing except him and me. But he stills, his hand stops rubbing, and I groan in protest.

  Nibbling at his neck, I move my hips, encouraging him to move his fingers, to rub his hand over my sex, to make me feel. But he doesn’t. Instead, he slides his hand from between my legs and turns his head away from my lips.

  “Do you want me to touch you?” He growls.

  I can’t answer, my voice is too thick with want and all of the emotion that’s threatening to burst from inside of me.

  “Do you want me to force you to let me?” he asks, his voice raw.

  I don’t know what he sees in my eyes, but a wicked grin forms on his lips. “Dirty, dirty, little Princess. Do you get off on feeling like you have no choice? If you want me to touch you, I’m going to make you work for it.”

  My breaths become shallow and I stare at him, waiting for him to tell me what he expects me to do. All of my thoughts center on him, on the way he’s looking at me; the way he’s licking his lips as he decides how to torture me next.

  “Maybe I won’t force you. Maybe I’ll make it all your choice,” he says with a chuckle and a miserable whimper escapes from my throat.

  At the sound, he looks at me and something in his dark, mean eyes changes. I don’t know what he sees, but I think it might be some of the crazy in me that disappears when I’m near him, trying to force its way back to the surface.

  “Beg me,” he says, his voice different, but still menacing.

  “Please,” I gasp, the word wrenched from my throat.

  “Please what?”

  “Please, Valentine. Please.” The last word is a broken gasp.

  “Do you want my fingers in you?”

  “Yes,” I rasp.

  “Do you want my tongue on your clit?”

  “Oh God,” I moan, nodding.

  “I’m going to give you a choice, Princess,” he says, his voice thick and raspy. “I can make you come with my fingers, or I can make you scream with my fingers and my tongue. Pick.”

  “Fingers and tongue,” I say quickly.

  He chuckles darkly. “If you want my tongue, then I want yours. On my dick.”

  The breath in my lungs freezes and I open my mouth, inhaling sharply. I’ve given a blow job before, but never before have I really wanted to do it. Right now, I want to feel his cock against my lips. Unwrapping my legs from his waist I lower my feet to the floor and his arms loosen from around me. He watches as I lower myself down to my knees, lifting my hands to his jeans and slowly releasing his cock.

  His fingers find their way to my hair and I feel him fist the strands, reminding me that he’s there. “Open wide,” he rasps, and I do as he says, taking his cock into my mouth. I don’t miss the ravaged growl that comes from him when I close my lips around him and hollow my cheeks, swallowing him as deep as I can.

  His grip tightens in my hair and he controls my movement, slowly moving me back and forth on his dick. I have no idea what this is. This isn’t manipulation or coercion; I’m on my knees with his dick in my mouth because I want to be. Since the moment I kissed him outside of school, my mind has been blissfully quiet and that’s because of him. I don’t know how or why, but I want his touch. I want his lips and tongue and fingers, and I want to make him combust the way I know he can make me.

  Pulling him deeper into my mouth, I suck on him as he guides me with his hand in my hair. His dick grows even larger against my tongue and he fists my hair yanking me off him. “Enough,” he snaps.

  Reaching for me, he lifts me off the floor, walking us backward and dropping me unceremoniously onto the bed. Scrambling backwards to make room for him to follow me, I immediately wrap my arms and legs around him the moment he crawls over me. His lips press to mine, and his finger goes back between my legs, his thumb finding my clit and rubbing it over my wet panties.

  “Is this what you want?” He snarls.

  I’m incapa
ble of speaking. A mewl of pleasure, and the way I push my hips off the bed, forcing myself closer to him is all the affirmation he needs, and his fingers deftly push my panties to the side, stroking and rubbing at my wet, swollen pussy.

  I kiss him harder, tangling my tongue with his and clinging to him as his fingers push inside of me, filling my sex and stretching me wide. Gasping against his lips, I grind myself against his fingers, urging him to move.

  “Stay still, or I’ll stop,” he growls against my mouth and I still, lowering my butt to the comforter and trying not to move.

  His lips drop to my neck, and he alternates between kissing and biting at the sensitive skin. I feel his fingers push back into me and then his thumb finds my clit and rubs in time with the movement of his thrusts.

  When his lips move away from my neck and his fingers withdraw from me, my eyes snap open and I feel tears fill my eyes. “No,” I whimper, needing him to finish, desperate for him not to leave me like this.

  Sitting back on his knees between my legs, his cruel smile spreads across his face as he looks down at my parted thighs, my panties pushed to the side. “Take off your panties.”

  Quickly pushing them over my hips, I kick them off my foot, not caring where they land.

  “Keep your eyes on me. I want you to watch me make you come. I want you to rub your clit while I fuck your pussy with my fingers and my tongue. I want to see how much you hate me while you cry out my name.”

  Inhaling sharply at his words, I cry out when he plunges two fingers back into me, his eyes locked with mine as he thrusts them in and out of my sex.

  “Suck your fingers,” he orders, and I comply, sliding two of my fingers into my mouth and sucking on them.

  “Rub your clit.”

  My fingers drop between my legs and I find the swollen ball of nerves and begin to work it as he fills my pussy over and over with his fingers. His gaze never strays from mine as he lowers his head between my legs and licks a hot, wet path along my sex. He pushes my fingers aside, his tongue lapping at my clit over and over. I watch as emotions flash through his dark eyes as he pushes me closer and closer to release. My eyes threaten to close, but each time I manage to keep them open, right up until the moment my orgasm splinters.

  Tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks as my pussy tightens around his fingers and I come in an explosion of sensation that threatens to break me into a million pieces.

  With my eyes tightly shut, I let the tears that managed to escape roll down my cheeks and onto the comforter beneath me. I feel him reach for my hand and I allow him to move me willingly. He places my fingers over his hard dick, and I grip the shaft, feeling him wrap his fingers over the top of mine. Together we work his cock, until he’s shaking, and our hands are coated in his hot, sticky release.

  I know I need to thank him for the orgasm he just gave me—that’s part of the game we’re playing—but right now I’m too raw, too close to falling apart, to do anything but roll to my side and hide behind the darkness of my closed eyes.

  He doesn’t speak, but I feel the bed move as he lies down behind me. I swear I feel his lip press against the skin on my shoulder, but I know I must have imagined it, because Valentine isn’t the guy for sweet kisses and thoughtful moments. Valentine is harsh control and cruel taunts. He’s everything to hate and nothing to crave. Yet today I needed him, and he was vicious in a whole new way; a way that centered me and set my body on fire.

  In a world that’s too loud inside my head, Valentine is silence, and maybe, somehow, that makes whatever we’re doing here okay.

  I must fall asleep, because when I open my eyes, it’s dark outside and the room is only lit by the dim light of the TV playing quietly. My face is pressed against a warm chest and his arm is cradling me to him, almost affectionately.

  Looking up, I find Valentine’s face almost hidden by the shadows. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” I say groggily.

  He doesn’t speak, but I think I see his mouth dip into a scowl.

  “I should go. My Mom and Dad will be wondering where I am.”

  “I asked Brandi to call them, when I told her you’d fallen asleep. There’s a sandwich on the side for you. She wanted to wake you up for dinner, but I convinced her not to. Eat and I’ll take you home.”

  Sitting up, I glance around the room until I spot a plate covered in Saran wrap by the TV. Getting up I take it, then climb back onto the bed, sitting against the pillows, but leaving as much space between Valentine and I as I can.

  His low rumbling laughter shocks me and I turn to face him, my mouth full of sandwich. He looks from me to the space between us then up to me again. “You don’t want to be close to me now, but you were happy to suck my dick, come all over my fingers and tongue, then sleep curled up against me for the last three hours.”

  A deep blush fills my cheeks and I look away, not wanting to think about the way I’d cried as I’d orgasmed or how I’d obviously sought him out in my sleep.

  “You are more fucked up than me, Princess,” he says, shaking his head almost imperceptibly and looking back to whatever he was watching on his TV.

  “If only you knew,” I whisper silently to myself.

  He watches me eat while glancing back to whatever show is on. When I’ve finished, he climbs off the bed and pulls on his shoes. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  Sliding off his bed, I put my sandals back on and grab my purse, that I hadn’t even realized I’d brought in with me. Valentine holds out his hand and I take it without thinking. It’s only as my fingers twine with his that I wonder why he did that, why would he be holding my hand?

  My tired brain is too fuzzy to really give his behavior any great thought and so I just let him tow me down the stairs. He pauses by the doorway into the family room. “I’m taking Nova home.”

  “Okay, honey. Come straight home afterwards please. Sleaze and I have something we’d like to talk to you about.” Auntie Brandi calls.

  Valentine doesn’t speak, but a line appears in his brow and his jaw ticks as he clenches it. When we reach Auntie Brandi’s car, he clicks the unlock button and releases me, leaving me to get in as he makes his way to the driver’s side.

  We drive to my house in weirdly comfortable silence. I’m not sure how or why, but some of the tension that usually crackles whenever we’re within ten feet of each other seems to have dissolved. It could just be that my body is sleepy and relaxed, I’m not sure, but when we pull up to the curb outside my house, I’m almost reluctant to get out. After a long moment, I force myself to move, reaching over and unclipping my seatbelt.

  “Will you sleep tonight?” Valentine asks, breaking the silence and surprising me with what almost sounds like concern in his voice.

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. I know I should probably lie, tell him I’ll be fine, but being with him tonight has made me feel stripped bare, and lying to him now, when he’s seen an orgasm bring me to tears, seems petty and unnecessary.

  Not expecting him to respond, I pull open the handle and push the door wide, swinging my legs out.

  “If you can’t sleep, text me and I’ll help you.”

  A soft chuckle escapes me. “How exactly will you do that?” I ask.

  Heat flashes in his eyes and my stomach clenches in response.

  “I’ll make you come again,” he says, so confidently that I know he probably could.

  Turning away from him, I push forward, then stop and turn back, my mind recalling our deal. Pulling my legs back into the car, I twist in my seat until my body is facing him, then I lean in and press my lips to his cheek. “Thank you for the orgasm,” I whisper.

  Climbing out of the car, I close the door behind me and walk to the front door, not looking behind me to see if he’s watching. I have a feeling he is, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Valentine Miller makes me feel everything and nothing at the same time. He’s dangerous in every way and yet even though I know I should be running away, somehow in
the space of a few days he’s become both a safety net, and the tidal wave threatening to pull me under.

  That night I sleep a heavy, dreamless sleep and wake up with a quiet mind. I shower and get dressed in patterned shorts and a tight black tank with straps that cross back and forth across my shoulders and neck. My cell beeps just before I head downstairs and I pause mid step and pull it from my pocket.

  Valentine: Come pick me up. Zeke will get Emmy.

  I don’t bother to reply. He knows I’ll do what he asks. What’s strange is that only yesterday his demands felt like a violation, and today, although I don’t like him ordering me about, I don’t feel like a victim anymore.

  Mom is sat eating eggs and bacon at the table with Dad leaning over behind her, his face buried in her neck when I walk into the kitchen. Grabbing a plate, I dish myself up some food and a coffee and slide into my seat and eat, stalwartly keeping my eyes away from my parents who are practically making out at the breakfast table.

  “Are you okay to get Emmy this morning?” I ask Zeke.

  “Yeah, Valentine already asked me.”

  Scowling at him, I huff an annoyed sound. “It’s not up to him.” I grumble, knowing that Valentine has a way of getting his own way even if I was interested in disagreeing with him.

  Zeke just laughs, shoveling the last forkful of food from his plate as he stands and carries it to the dishwasher. “See you at school,” he calls, as the twins follow suit and load their plates into the dishwasher before grabbing their bags and trailing out of the door after Zeke.

  Ten minutes later I’m halfway to Valentine’s, when I realize that my mind has been gloriously quiet since I woke up this morning. The reprieve from the stress of feeling like I’m going crazy is breathtaking and I feel a smile spread across my face. By the time I pull up outside the house, I’m grinning like a lunatic whose meds just kicked in.

  Climbing into the car, Valentine takes in my happy face and stares at me, like he has no idea what’s happening. “I take it you slept?” he asks in a deadpan tone that elicits a giggle from me and makes my grin spread even wider.